


Titanium

by Perlmord



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BerEt nYoOm, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Only if you squint - Freeform, Pre Blackwatch Moira, Shooting, Training, barely though - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 01:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16671832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perlmord/pseuds/Perlmord
Summary: She observes her features. Her face doesn’t entirely display complete neutrality. She looks pained, there’s this feeble glint in her eyes whenever she pulls the trigger, as though she imagines a man sinking to the ground with a shout. Angela swallows. Hard. The redhead doesn’t wear any earmuffs, her ears must be ringing with gunshots at this point. She’s sweating a little, therefore wiping her forehead with the towel in front of herself briefly. And then she finally looks at Angela.





	Titanium

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

you can be the greatest

 

                  set the world on  
fire, burn a little higher

 

                  you can make ‘em  
stand up

 

make them people put their hands up

 

                                    you  
can be a champion, champion, champion

 

 

The music is loud and it thunders through the entire hall. Pure energy vibrates through it and bounces off the wall, bass and clapping hands mixing with a strong voice. It’s energizing. Makes them feel like they can do anything, all of them training in the hall. The effects of music are  
interesting, to say the least. Angela’s studied it. Currently, though, there is nobody training except for someone to rarely be seen around these parts; it’s Moira O’Deorain.

 

 

She’s a scientist, but she fights on the field if she must, especially since the message of her transferring to Blackwatch made its round and now everyone knows she’ll leave. Soon. And she’ll have to fight, as she will operate as the field medic for the small side organization. The only one. Angela can’t deny the fact that she would rather if she stayed here and locked herself in her laboratory for the rest of her lifetime and not die on the battlefield where she can’t reach her. Moira has proved to be mature enough to protect herself and take care of herself, but Angela will still miss her and worry about her even when she’s not there.

 

 

And they bicker and fight the whole time and it’s horribly unnerving, especially how cheeky Moira is about her, but Angela has come to admit that she’ll miss Mora a lot, even though she only admitted that to herself.

 

 

She makes sure to close the door behind herself as quietly as possible and makes her way over to a bench, placing her bag and the water bottle down on it and crosses the training hall to the shooting ranges, completely ignoring Moira’s presence. There’s no need to let her know that she means much to her. With quivering hands, she puts on the earmuffs to shield her ears from the loud gunshots. It’s better to start with the training that displeases her most and end with the training that she can stand. So, worst things first, she picks up the pistol, examines it, reloads it, looks at Moira next to her, who pulls the trigger and a loud gunshot echoes through the hall.

 

 

Her expression is cold. She glances at her weapon, reloads it, aims, and pulls the trigger. Several times. Maybe this is why Angela hated Moira so much when they first made acquaintance. She’s cold, merciless, there’s absolutely no way of putting it another way. They fight so much because they’re like day and  
night, like warm and cold, like black and white. They hate each other and yet they’re drawn together like a positive and a negative pole, so very different but so very magnetic.

 

 

                  you shoot me down

 

                                    but  
I won’t fall

 

                                                      I am titanium

 

 

Blam, blam, blam. The shots are a little  
lopsided, the bullets don’t hit the optimal places of the target, the heart or the head, but they’re enough to hold them off. Angela wonders if Moira does it the way she does, purposely aiming for the shoulders or the stomach or the legs to not to kill. She doesn’t want to kill, she wouldn’t manage to live on knowing she may have destroyed families or lives by killing a man who’s doing his job.

 

 

She observes her features. Her face doesn’t entirely display complete neutrality. She looks pained, there’s this feeble glint in her eyes whenever she pulls the trigger, as though she imagines a man sinking to the ground with  
a shout. Angela swallows. Hard. The redhead doesn’t wear any earmuffs, her ears must be ringing with gunshots at this point. She’s sweating a little, therefore wiping her forehead with the towel in front of herself briefly. And then she  
finally looks at Angela. Her lips move, she says something that Angela can’t hear because of the earmuffs.

 

 

“What?” She asks as she pulls them off. Moira looks at her, annoyed. The sliver of pain in her eyes is gone. “I asked if you didn’t want to start  
training.” Blue eyes glare right back at her, “You are not in the place to decide if I train or not.” Moira sniffs and grimaces. “You’re a waste of time,  
you know that?”

 

 

Yes, she knows that she must be a waste of time to Moira. “In fact, I have friends that actually consider me to be anything but a waste of time. Can you say that about yourself, too?” The question stings, she can see it in the way Mora sniffs again and picks up her pistol, gracefully ignoring her. Clearly she tries to make a point of Angela being a waste of time.

 

 

“If you think I’m a waste of time, then don’t talk to me,” Angela adds, “it would only waste your time.” And she puts her earmuffs on again, aims, and fires several shots after a millisecond of hesitation. She peeks at Moira, but the Irishwoman has left, already halfway across the hall. The blonde sighs, maybe she’d gone a little too far this time. What she said had been nothing but provoking, and even though it was Moira who started, she decides to take the blame on this one.

 

 

It was her who continued, after all. With a deep sigh, she lowers her gun and stares at the target ahead. She hit a leg, a rib and a shoulder. The  
fourth shot went past. The sound of the door being slammed shut after herself is so loud Angela can hear it despite the music and the earmuffs. “I’m sorry,” she says to nobody. The hall is empty, all those who could listen are the training bots that stay in place, their health bar displayed on the wall above them. “I’m so sorry.”

 

 

 

 

 

She catches Moira staring at her the next day in the lab. Not in that awing way, but rather the thoughtful one. She worries her bottom lip distantly, eyes clouded. For a moment, Angela considers throwing that sentence back to her  
– when will you start working? But that seems like something far too cruel to do to Moira. She doesn’t want to lower herself onto the level she was treated with. And why is she so aggressive? Perhaps it’s because she forgot her medication – shit, she did. As Angela is on the pill (to control and regulate her cycle of hormones and have a vague idea of when her period will set in, not  
because she wants birth control, she doesn’t have a boyfriend and she doesn’t want one, either) her hormones go crazy when she forgets the tiny little pills.

 

 

That must have been it. Despite being a calm woman with a clear head (most of the time), she has no control over herself when her period kicks in. It’s horrible and even Moira has learned to stay away from her during that time easily. Some assistants however have learned to check if she’s on her period the hard way.

 

 

The more Angela thinks about it, the more plausible it becomes. But it doesn’t fix the way Moira stares at her. Eventually, Angela can’t concentrate anymore, her thoughts only circling around one thing: why is she looking at her  
like that? And she looks up and right into Moira’s eyes. “Something on your mind?” She asks after a moment, when Moira still doesn’t look away.

 

 

“No,” she replies slowly. Her voice is husky and low and it would have been attractive if they were in a – suggestive situation, which they (sadly)  
aren’t. But the little hairs on Angela’s neck raise nonetheless. “Are you sure?” The inquisitive words are what Moira really reaches, what really hits  
her. And she shows it on her face. Her pride, however, fights the longing to tell Angela what really bothers her, and so she lets her head fall to the side to quash her desperate features. “Moira?”

 

 

The office chair squeaks as Angela gets up. It rolls back an inch or two. She clips towards Moira, who shrinks into herself just a little bit further. A hand on her shoulder, cold, but it’s there. “I’m fine,” she says, cheeks hollow and jaw slack. She swallows, collects herself and her courage and looks up, into Angela’s eyes. “I’m fine. I—I’ll just, I think I’m going to miss you when I’m—gone.” A smile spreads over Angela’s face, bright and warm and she laughs. Not in a cold way, but—well, warmly. It’s difficult to describe it. It’s like the sun going up and warming your face, it’s like the scent of  
flowers in the summer heat.

 

 

“Oh, Moira,” Angela huffs and giggles lightly, “I’m so relieved it’s just that that’s on your mind. I’ll miss you, too.” Moira lets a smile ghost over her face and nods. “It is indeed a relief to know you’ll miss me, too, really.”

 

 

 

 

 

The morning after, Angela wakes up and knows that Moira is gone. She’s left today, early in the morning, before anyone else wakes up, as she has  
decided on wanting to be at the other, smaller base early so she has enough time to unpack and get a good look around the base. She’s told her such yesterday. They’ve talked a lot yesterday, it’d been very pleasant. A surprise, really, but only because they usually fight and bicker (even though it’s mere joking and teasing).

 

 

But the biggest surprise is the moment that Angela approaches her desk to observe two sunflowers being laid out neatly, tied together by a little red ribbon with a note attached to it. She picks it up and smiles. It’s a simple single heart drawn onto the paper.


End file.
